Page 49 of Exiled
“You will not survive a bullet in your brain,” you say, and jerk open the front door.
The alarm has been blaring this whole time. I didn’t even notice until now. I don’t think anyone has.
Logan watches with agony on his face, watching Caleb take me away yet again.
“Caleb, wait!” Logan pleads.
“No waiting. She is mine.” This is not you. This is Jakob, someone I do not know. Someone I can predict even less than I could Caleb.
“You don’t understand, Caleb. It’s Isabel...” He steps around front, accepts the barrel of Caleb’s gun to his forehead. “She’s pregnant.”
You go stone-still. Your eyes search Logan. I, between you, see this. See the hunt for the truth in your eyes on Logan’s.
“No.” You shake your head. A denial. A refusal to accept it.
“Yes, Caleb.” I whisper it.
“His?” You turn your gaze to me.
“I—I don’t know.” I despise myself for having to admit this. “It could be either of yours. There is no way to know, yet.”
A moment of frozen, fraught silence.
“Kurva.”This, in a language I do not know, from you; Czech, most likely. It has the tone of an epithet. “A baby?”
“Yes.” I turn in place, look up at you.
“Kurva—a baby.” You look down at me, as if I am a creature you have never seen before.
There is a depth in your eyes, a wrecked, mortal agony in those dark brown pools that is awful to see in a man ordinarily so closed off and stoic. You search my face. Hands at your sides, gun held casually, easily, forgotten.
“Isabel...” This, from you, is a whisper. A plea. A moment of weakness. A caress, with a word. Softness from a stone. Love, even, from a razor blade.
And then, without a word, you’re gone. Just... gone. You turn, and flee. Run swiftly, desperately. Round a corner, and gone.
Logan and I both stare after you.
Logan wraps his arms around me, hauls me inside. Carries me. Sets me down on the couch. Lets out Cocoa, who sniffs me and then Logan, tail wagging, murmuring softly, whining.
“What the hell wasthat?” Logan asks, taking a seat beside me and curling your arms around me, pulling me against your chest.
I shake my head. “I... I don’t know. He’s coming apart.”
“He certainly seemed . . . unstable.”
“It was frightening. That was not Caleb. That was nothing like the man I’ve known these last six years. He is always so... in control. Strong. Stoic. Emotionless.” I gesture vaguely. “That? That was... I am worried. For him. For me, for us. I never quite knew what he might do, but now? After seeing him that way... I am afraid.”
“Understandable. That was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever experienced.” The next is more to himself than to me. “It’s almost as if he has multiple personalities or something. To be so completely unlike himself...”
“What is that?”
He glances at me. “What? Oh. MPD, multiple personality disorder. It’s where a person goes through something so extremely traumatic that the mind sort of... compartmentalizes, in a way. Cuts out the part of the mind that contains those memories. But instead of just suppressing or repressing them or whatever, the mind will create a different personality, an entirely new psychological entity that is tougher, that can deal with the trauma or whatever it was. If... Jakob—the guy born in Prague—went through something really truly awful, he might have created Caleb as a way to deal with it. If Jakob felt overwhelmed and weak and victimized and out of control, he would have created a personality like Caleb, you know? Someone strong, dominant, in control. And now, losing you, somehow it has fractured Caleb’s hold on Jakob, if youknow what I mean. Like Caleb has been in control this whole time, and now Jakob is breaking through.”
“You think that is the case?”
He shrugs. “I mean, it’s all speculation. Only a trained psychologist could really diagnose something like that. It’s just a totally wild guess. Caleb could just be losing his shit in the more normal sense. Just... cracking up.”
“It worries me, either way. I never caught even a hint of any of this from him until recently.”